


Waking Beauty

by england_is_mine



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Coma, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/england_is_mine/pseuds/england_is_mine
Summary: Follow on from Toastedbuckwheat’s amazing ‘Sleeping Beauty’ in which Miles is in a coma.





	Waking Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sleeping Beauty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420533) by [Toastedbuckwheat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastedbuckwheat/pseuds/Toastedbuckwheat). 



> This is my first post, be nice! Critics of course accepted however, enjoy :0
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Although resemblance to real people is implied, any actions they depict are not real. Their privacy must be respected at all times.

And then one day, you woke up. Not like you usually do, not in a second of consciousness in which you slip back into a deep sleep where you dream of spring, but your heart, it came to life again. It began to beat faster and faster, so fast a nurse had to alert me and drag me from a job.

 

The fear crept in, making every step during the short distance heavier than the last. The beeping of hospitals monitors, crying babies, the tap of the nurses heels as we walked so fast, all stopped in an instant when the door closed behind me and I entered that room. That fateful room where so many hours I had spent coaxing you back to life. The rush stopped, and I hesitantly approached you, the nurse not entering and instead checking your heart behind the glass screen. I turn to her with a brief look of hope, and she shrugs, not knowing. I turn back, tears forming in my eyes. Could this be the end of you? After all these years, will your heart finally cave in, and stop torturing me?

 

No, something better than that  -something your optimism would only think of first, you were always the happy one- had happened. I saw your chest rise and fall more deeply than before, your eyebrows twitch, nostrils flare, fingers caress the sheets… the foreign movements felt heavy on me, and I was stood frozen, in a coma of my own, watching you, studying you.

 

It took ages. You didn’t wake up gracefully quickly like in any hospital drama, you took your time. You were always the late one, more relaxed than me. I recall the time that you were late to my dad’s funeral. I never forgave you for that, Miles, but I forgive you now. But for once, be early, be on time.

 

And that’s when it happened. Your eyes drifted open, immediately squinting at the unfamiliar light. My jaw dropped, and I knew you were really awake. I knew from the mere movement of squinting that it was you, and not a lifeless version of you that would awake now and then. I fell on my knees close to the bed and choked on my sobs. I grasped your hand, willing you to wake up.

 

“Mi, Mi it’s me. Please, darlin,’ please,” I begged, like I had time and time before. A groan emerged from you, and I was afraid you had forgotten how to speak. You slowly turned your head, looked my sobbing body up and down, and asked:

 

“Who’re you?”

 

And I broke down. Amnesia. How could I be so stupid? I collapsed on the floor, so hysterical that my colleagues had to drag me away. I couldn’t breathe. The memory we shared of a bitter London spring, the flowers, the breakfast you made me every morning, our laughter, our music, our lives, forgotten, pointless. In that moment, where I was being dragged away, I wished we were dead. But I heard it- I heard it loud and clear:

 

“Alex?”

My head snapped. The nurses stopped. Time stood still.

“Mi? Is that you?” I asked, nurses still clutching my arms, and my face red.

“I think so,” you smirked, and I beamed through tears.

 

The grasp on me was released, and I rushed up to my baby. My man. The love of my life. I cup your face, tears streaming, and tears formed in your eyes, too.

 

“How did you- know- did you- for- get- me?” I gasped out through tear-ridden breaths.

“I didn’t recognise you,” you spoke gently, with tears still dwelling, a hand weakly reaching into my hair. I grasp it, holding onto this moment forever, only hoping it’s not a dream.

 

“Am I dreaming?” I think out loud.

“I hope not,”

“I missed you, baby,” I whimper.

“I missed you too, Al. Do you wanna know what I dreamt about?

"What?"

"That time we were in London, and it was awful, but you could’ve sworn it was spring."

 


End file.
